I carry a torch for each woman I’ve ever been smitten by, seen at the country bears prior to 13, held only hands with, that guy’s girl ala’ Lenny Bruce, and several Gina Valentinas.
The men who have met mother carry a torch for her. In balanced terms.
Mother grew up on a Sacramento farm. All animals are varmints in her eyes. Never once projecting or applying anthropomorphic concepts to them.
As for me, literal housecats do not know their neck smells so good. Therefore everything I do is justified.
I was President Trump’s man in the field. On point against end of the world cultists.
“What do we have in the executive residence,” asked the President, “which he needs. What can we give our man, in the field.”
Their own private closet and wardrobe.
An army surplus runners jacket, plus Marine Layer, was provided to the first lady. Ostensibly for their walk to Marine One had visible wide felt tip ink letters:
“I don’t really care, do you?”
A bible passage. Placed at the comma.
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